The stories you are about to read were written between 1995 and 2006 and were featured in past "Wings of Eagles" newsletters and are believed to be true. I hope you enjoy them. Please be patient as this page is being built. In response to any questions, comments, or suggestions you may have about the Angel Chronicles page, please e-mail Georgia Alvarez at
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The Simple Plan

first published in 2002

His brillance illuminated the darkness as the Angel listened to His command. The plan was simple; return to earth as a child for awhile to change the lives of those who've strayed from their intended paths. The simple plan was difficult for the Angelic child, who fell in love with his chosen parents, and fought against returning to heaven.

"The Angel Chronicles"

Part 2

first published in 2001

There are things in this world that cannot be explained scientifically or physically, but are understood by those who have faith and believe in Him.

As I started to pick up the receiver and make my very important phone call to my husband about my broken down car, I realized that I had spent all my money on the children's drinks inside the Quickie Mart. My jaw dropped as I opened up my change purse and saw only a few pennies inside. Perturbed with myself, I quickly entered the store and asked the kids if they had any change for the phone. Unfortunately, most 9, 7, and 11 year old children don;t carry cash, so I was out of luck borrowing money from the three. My only alternative, was to ask the store clerk if I could borrow some money from him, and my husband would pay him back when he arrived. I explained my situation to the store clerk, ho looked at me with very dull eyes, as if I were speaking a foreign language, only shook his head and said, "I can't help you. I don't have any change." I'd been in that store at least a hundred times, and had seen that store clerk on many occasions at the store. How was he unable to help me? I don't know, but I knew I had to make my phone call. I told the kids, "Stay inside the store while I try something." I rushed out of the store again. As I walked to the payphone, I remembered that I had once heard that if you make a phone call without any change and then yell into the receiver that quite possibly the person on the other line would be able to hear. I picked up the receiver and dialed our home, but there was no answer. I put down the receiver and tried dialing my husband at his shop. Maybe he was working overtime or helping one of the workers on their cars I thought. Again, no answer. My last hope was tocall my neighbor, Nadine. If she ws home, then she could get a message to Alberto. Once more I picked up the receiver, but this time I called Nadine. The phone rang three times and then I heard a "hello". It was Nadine!

"Nadine," I shouted into the phone, "Can you hear Me?" Nadine replied, "Barely, who is this?" "It's me, Georgia," I shouted. I continued to shout into the phone, "My car boke down on 99, right across from the Quickie Mart! Can you find Alberto and tell him?"

Nadine told me she would ask her husand Bill to find Alberto for me, so I quickly gave her the number to the payphone. It worked! My call went through! After telling Nadine thank you and goodbye, I decided I would wait at the pay phone for Alberto's return call. As I waited outside the store, keeping an eye on the kids inside, a compact car drove up. A nicely uniformed Navy man got out of the car and headed for the pay phone. I started to tell him that I was waiting for a phone call when he picked up the receiver. I watched as he hurriedly dialed a number. There must have been no answer because he quickly hung up the phone.

I began to repeat my story to the Navy man, that I was waiting for a phone call, when suddenly the phone rang. I quickly picked up the phone and said, "Hello?" Thank goodness it was Alberto on the other end. I told him, "My car broke down on 99 across the street from Quickie's. We got a ride from a man who came out of nowhere and I accidentally spent all my money on the kid's drinks, so I had to yell into the phone to talk to Nadine to get a hold of you."

Alberto calmly replied, "Did you call AAA?"

"No I didn't, I didn't even think of that," I said.

"Ok then, I'll call AAA for you, but you'll have to go back to the car and wait. If you're not there when they arrive, they won't be able to help you," Alberto told me. "You do have your AAA card with you, don't you," Alberto asked.

"Yes of course I do, but I don't know how I'm going to get back o the car. I don't want to walk, because it's getting dark. What do I do with the kids?" I said.

I'll see if Nadine can pick up the kids for me right now because I'm working on something important and I can't get away. I'll tell the tow truck driver I'll meet him at the corner of Cana and 99 with my truck and I'll tow you to the house," Alberto explained.

After I said goodby to Alberto on the phone, I went into the store and told the kids what I was going to do and they were to wait in the store until Nadine arrived. I walked out of the store and off the sidewalk and was about to start to walk across the parking lot when the Navy man asked me if I wanted a ride to my car. He must have overheard my conversation with Alberto. At first I said no, then I looked up in the sky that was growing ever so darker, and listened to cars whizzing down busy Hwy. 99. So again, I reluctantly accepted help from a stranger. We got into his compact car and crossed busy Hwy. 99 and parked behind my broken car.

I started to exit his car when he said, "Wait! You don't have to wait by the side of the road by yourself. I'll wait with you. I'm only here in Chico to say good-bye to my little girl who lives with her mother. I'm shipping out to Desert Storm in a few days and I don't know how long I'll be gone." I shut the car door, listening to him, becoming interested in his story. "That's who I was trying to call on the pay phone, my little girl. I don't get to see her very often, with me being in the service and her mom divorcing me and all," he explained.

"That's too bad" I told him. "My son's been sick a lot lately, he had cancer. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't see him everyday. That must just about kill you."

"It does. But it's probably my fault. I don't know if I was a very good husband to my wife, that's probably why she left me. Now, I'm being shipped out to the Middle East and nobody knows how long this war is going to last. Hopefully the worst is over with, but I really need to see my little girl before I go. They were supposed to be home by now, but nobody's answering the phone" he told me.

"Well, you know what they say, God never gives you more than you can handle. At least that's what I believe" I shared.

"I don't know if I believe in God anymore. My wife left me, I can't see my daughter and now I'm heading to the Middle East. I don't think God cares about me at all" he said.

"Do you pray?" I asked.

"I used to, but I don't think God hears me, He never answers my prayers" he told me sadly.

If you really do pray, God hears you and He answers your prayers, He just may not answer them the way you want Him to," I boldly told him. "Never doubt that God hears your prayers or doesn't love you, because He does," I told him.

"How do you know? Your son had cancer and was very sick. How can you still believe in God?" he questioned me.

I explained to him, "God has touched our lives very personally and the one thing I've learned, no matter what, God is in control. I trust Him, and I live by faith. I'll pray for you while you're away, that you'll be safe and return home soon to your little girl."

"I'm glad I talked to you, I feel better now. Before I was pretty scared to leave, but now, I feel more relaxed" he told me.

"When the tow truck arrives, go back and call your little girl, I bet they're home by now" I told him.

"Yeah. I'll bet your right. Maybe I'll even take her and her mom out for dinner" he said.

"That sounds like a great idea to me. I can hardly wait to get home" I replied.

Just at that moment, I saw the tow truck pass by and position itself in front of my car. "Well, I better be off! Thanks for waiting with me. It was really great talking with you and good luck with your little girl and with your trip" I told him. "Thanks for everything" he replied.

The tow truck driver had my car almost ready to tow by the time I walked over there. I jumped into the front seat of the tow truck, crossed my arms in my lap and drove silently down Hwy. 99 to Cana Hwy. Just as we turned onto Cana, my husband drove up in his work truck. It was now cold, dark and windy outside, and I was very cold. The driver quickly unhitched my car and brought out the paper work. My husband signed the paperwork and was ready to back up to the car and pull it the rest of the way home.

Alberto looked at me and said, "I'm going to see if it starts before I hook it up to the truck.

"Are the kids home?" I questioned.

Alberto confirmed that Nadine had picked the kids up and they were already home. Relieved, I sat in the front seat of Alberto's truck and waited for him. Surprisingly, my car started when Alberto turned the key! With a frowned look on his face, Alberto questioned me, "I thought you said the car broke down?"

"It did! It just stopped on the highway! Ask the kids if you don't believe me" I told him.

"Well, it's running now. You drive it home and I'll follow you" he told me.

I jumped into the driver's seat of the car, pulled out and drove home down Cana Hwy. While I drove I was thinking of the man in the Bronco that I didn't even know, who just appeared in the field and drove us to Quickie's. Then I thought of the store clerk, who I knew, who wouldn't even help me. The free phone call to Nadine, and how I got through. Then I thought of the Navy man on his way to Desert Storm and how I was glad I was able to help him feel better.

I arrived home and quickly ran to the house to check on the kids. They were fine. Alberto drove in behing me, parked, set up a drop light and lifted the hood of my car and strated checking it out. He couldn't see anything wrong with it, so he put his equipment away and called it a night.

We never did figure out why my car broke down on that busy Friday evening along Hwy. 99. My car never had any trouble with it from that day forward. It was a good car and very reliable. I just live by faith knowing that God is in control and He knows what He's doing.

A Message From God

published in 1999, author unknown

"I am God. Today I will be handling all of your problems. Please remember that I do not need your help. If life happens to deliver a situation to you that you cannot handle, do not attempt to resolve it. Kindly put it in the SFGTD(something for God to do) box. It will be addressed in My time, not yours. Once the matter is placed into the box, do not hold on to it or remove it. Holding on or removal will delay the resolution of your problem. If it is a situation that you think you are capable of handling, please consult me in prayer to be sure that it is the proper resolution.

Because I do not sleep, nor do I slumber, there is no need for you to lose any sleep. Rest my child. If you need to contact me, I am only a prayer away.

Be happy with what you have. Should you find it hard to get to sleep tonight, just remember the homeless family who has no bed to lie in. Should you find yourself stuck in traffic, don't despair. There are people in this world for whom driving is an unheard of privilege. Should you have a bad day at work, think of the man or woman who has been out of work for years. Should you despair over a relationship gone bad, think of the person who has never known what it is like to love and be loved in return. Should you grieve the passing of another weekend, think of the woman in dire straits, working 12 hours a day, seven days a week, to feed her children. Should your car breakdown, leaving you miles away from assistance, think of the paraplegic who would love the opportunity to take that walk.think of the cancer patient in chemo who wishes they had hair to examine. Should you find yourself at a loss and pondering what life is all about, asking, "What is my purpose?"; be thankful. There are those who didn't live long enough to get the opportunity. Should you notice a new gray hair in the mirror,

Just remember, be happy with what you have. Should you decide to send this to a friend, tell them about Me, you might brighten someone's day.

Love, God

An Answered Prayer

Part 1

The story you about to read is true.

first published in 2002

It was the month of January in the year of 1990, and Joseph had just spent two torturous months at Stanford Children's Hospital in Palo Alto undergoing a bone marrow transplant. The care Joseph received at Stanford Children's Hospital was excellent and the doctors were wonderful. The torture came from Joseph being allergic to virtually every drug and medicine he was administered, his body's reactions to his treatment. Sometimes Joseph would shake violently, or throw up, or have high fevers. or sometimes all three at the same time.

Having been released from SCH shortly before Christmas of '89, Joseph and I were living at The Hometel. The Hometel was housing for post-transplant patients and was located aross the street from the Children's Hospital. Unfortunately, since Joseph's release from the hospital, he started spiking fevers daily. This was a great cause of concern for me as well as the doctors at Stanford. Every time Joseph would spike a fever, I would have to take him to the hospital, where he would be admitted. Many tests would be run on Joseph with no results. After a couple of days, he would be released, and back to The Hometel we'd go. This went on for over a month and finally the doctors wanted to perform more tests on Joseph to see what was causing his fevers that were accompanied by headaches and exhaustionn. After two and a half months post-transplant, Joseph should have been getting better, not worse. I was extremely worried and anxious over Joseph's inability to get well.

On January 27, 1990, Dr. Amylon of Stanford Children'sHospital ordered a Cat Scan to be taken of Joseph's brain. The appointment was made immediately and at 7:00 pm that night, Joseph was having a Cat Scan done at Stanford's big hospital. While the test was being done, Joseph was so comfortable, I think he fell asleep, while I watched in the next room standing over the technician. The pictures were being taken of Joseph's brain and I could see everything on the monitor. As the scan progressed, I could see this big discolored egg-shaped thing in Joseph's brain come up on the monitor. It was small at first, growing in size with every cut of the scan, then getting smaller until it disappeared. I immdiately asked the technician, "What is that? Is it supposed to be there? It looks like a tumor!" The technician, who became uncomfortably quiet, just said, "I can't answer you ma'am. You'll have to talk to your doctor." After the scan was complete, Joseph and I left the hospital and went back to The Hometel.

I was very quiet that evening, more worried than ever. Joseph spiked another fever that night and went to bed very early. I couldn't sleep, tossing and turning, seeing the Cat Scan monitor over and over in my mind.

The next morning I got up very early and made myself some coffee. I was really tired from lack of sleep, but was looking forward to seeing my husband Alberto and my daughter Mary who were to arrive that evening to visit for the weekend. All of the sudden, the phone rang. I answered the phone and it was Dr. Amylon's nurse practitioner on the line telling me that Dr. Amylon wanted to see Joseph and I immediately, that he was already sending a transport to pick us up. I asked the nurse, "Is something wrong?" She wouldn't go into any detalil, except that Dr. Amylon had to see Joseph now.

I knew it! I saw it! They had found something on Joseph's brain. What was I going to do? I was all by myself with Joseph because Mary had gone home earlier in the month to visit, and Alberto wouldn't be here until the evening. What was I going to do? I started crying.

Joseph must have heard me crying because he came out of the bedroom and asked, "What's wrong Mom?" I told him, "Nothing's wrong, just go into the bedroom and get ready to go to the hospital. I have to take a shower." Poor Joseph, why did he have to suffer so much?

While Joseph got ready to go to the hospital, I got ready to take a shower, crying with every breath. I was so upset. As the water warmed, I got into the shower and let the water wash my tears away. I couldn't stand it anymore and started crying uncontrollably. The hader I cried, the louder I got until I was screaming, "Why God? Why my son? What have I done? Please God! Give me one more chance and I promise I'll change! Please God, just give me one more year with him and I'll change! I promise God, I'll change!" Feeling exhausted, my throat hurting from screaming, I finished my shower and quickly got ready to take Joseph to the hospital. A day I'll never forget. I was Friday, January 28, 1990.

Part 2

In the parking lot, the transport was waiting for us. Our ride to Stanford Children's Hospital was very quiet. Rallo, the transport driver tried to make it fun, but I was sad and Joseph was tired.

We arrived at the hospital and were escorted immediately to the clinic where we sat in the hallway. Joseph and I held hands while we waited, when one of the other oncology doctors came by. He leaned towards me and said, "I talked to Dr. Amylon and I'm so sorry." I must have looked shocked, because he then said, "You haven't talked to Dr. Amylon yet have you?" I said, "No we haven't." He apologized and then quickly walked away. Joseph and I looked at each other and grasp each others hands more tightly. Just then, Dr. Amylon appeared across the hall and motioned to us to come with him. We walked with him to a clinic room, where we were joined by the nurse practitioner. The room was stark white and cold. Joseph sat on the exmination table while I stood. Dr. Amylon was very direct, he told us that the Cat Scan showed that Joseph had an infection in his brain. That we would be transported very shortly to Stanford's big hospital where Joseph would have an M.R.I., and directly after the M.R.I., Joseph would be taken into surgery where the surgeon would insert a large needle into Joseph's brain and suck out the infection. After the surgery, if Joseph survived, he would then be hospitalized for approximately 6 months, under heavy antibiotics. The room became very quiet. Joseph asked, "Dr. Amylon, do I have to have the surgery?" Dr. Amylon said, "I'm afraid so Joseph." Dr. Amylon quietly excused himself, while Joseph and I stayed and talked with the nurse practitioner. She was there there to answer any of our questions and keep us company while we waited for the transport.

Suddenly, a calm came over Joseph and I. We started talking about things that didn't mean anything to anyone else except us. We talked about our dog Lobo, about how Mary said, "Right Joseph?" every time she finished a sentence, and about how Dad always got mad lately. We started laughing, thinking about the ranch and all the birthday parties the kids had gone to. Family memories.

The transport arrived and it was time for us to go. The drive to the big hospital was quiet, not even Rallo the transport driver could think of anything funny to say.

Upon arriving at the hospital, someone was waiting for us with a wheelchair for Joseph. I trotted along side of Joseph's wheelchair as he was whisked away to where the M.R.I. was to be performed. Because it was critical Joseph didn't move, he was sedated, and then escorted into the M.R.I. chamber while I waited in the waiting room. The M.R.I. took quite awhile, so I tiptoed off to the pay-phone which was just down the hall and made some phone calls. I called different family members and gave them the bad news and almost gave up hope, telling one family member that I might have to face the fact that Joseph might die. Not wanting to be gone too long, I cut my conversations short and made my way back to the M.R.I. waiting room.

Joseph' M.R.I. was almost finished when I saw a very busy looking, trim woman dressed in white walk through the waiting area and into the M.R.I. monitor room. I just knew she was a doctor, so I followed her in. She was looking at the scans on the monitors and started saying, "I don't know what's going on here, but someone has made a big mistake! That's no infection, that's a bruise." She then turned to me, noticing me in the doorway. "Are you the mother?" she asked. "Yes," I replied. She went on to ask, "Has your son ever fallen down and hit his head?" "Yes, he fell down one time at U.C. Davis getting out of the bathtub," I told her. "Well that must be it," she said, "because that's not an infection, it's only a bruise." Right then, the attendant was wheeling Joseph out of the M.R.I. chamber. He was still groggy from the sedation, so we gently helped him into a wheelchair where we were told that we would be taken back to Children's Hospital.

The ride back was one of relief for me, except that Joseph was stilll groggy and not very alert.

When we arrived back at Children's Hospital, we were instructed to wait at the oncology ward until further notice. It was late in the afternoon by then and I was worried that Alberto and Mary wouldn't know where to find us. We waited a while longer when Dr. Amylon sent word that no surgery would be performed on Joseph and we could go back to The Hometel. I was a little dazed by the happenings of the day. In the morning I thought my son might die soon and now we were on our way to The Hometel.

At about 7:00 pm, there was a knock on our door. It was Alberto and Mary, they had found us. They had gone to Stanford Children's Hospital but found out Joseph had not been admitted, so they came to The Hometel as fast as they could. By that time, the sedative had worn off of Joseph and he was feeling great. He didn't spike a fever that night, the first time in over a month. The next day, Alberto took all of us to the San Jose flea market where we shopped and played all day. That night, Joseph didn't spike fever. In fact, Joseph didn't spike a fever for the entire rest of our stay in Palo Alto living next to the hospital. Joseph enjoyed his ninth birthday the following month at my Aunt's house in San Francisco and was getting back to his old self again.

Joseph stayed healthy until his relapse in September of 1990, but then died four and a half months later on January 28, 1991. It was exactly a year from the date that I screamed in the shower at The Hometel in Palo Alto begging God to give me one more year with Joseph. God does answer prayers. And yes, I did change in that year. My only regret is that when I begged God for one more year, I should have asked for fifty more years with Joseph.

An Interview with God

first published in 2000, author unknown

I dreamed I had an interview with God.

"Come in," God said. "So, you would like to interview Me?"

"If you have time," I said.

"My time is eternity and is enough to do everything; what questions do you have in mind to ask Me?"

"What surprises you most about manking?" I questioned.

God answered, "That my people get bored of being children, are in a rush to grow up, and then long to be children again. That they lose their health to make money and then lose their money to restore their health. That by thinking anxiously about the future, they forget the present, such that they live neither for the present nor for the future. That they live as if they will never die, and they die as if they had never lived . . ."

God's hands took mine and we were silent for a while and then I asked . . . ."As a parent, what are some of life's lessons you want your children to learn?"

God replied with a smile, "To learn that they cannot make anyone love them. What they can do is let themselves be loved. To learn that what is most valuable is not what they have in their lives, but who they have in their lives. To learn that it is not good to compare themselves to others. All will be judged individually on their own merits, not as a group on a comparison basis. To learn that a rich person is not the one who has the most, but is the one who needs the least. To learn that it only takes a few seconds to open profound wounds in persons we love, and that it takes many years to heal those wounds. To learn to forgive by practicing forgiveness. To learn that there are persons that love them dearly, but simply do not know how to express or show their feelings. To learn that money can buy everything but happiness. To learn that two people can look at the same thing and see it totally different. To learn that a true friend is someone who knows everything about them . . . .and likes them anyway. To learn that it is not always enough that they be forgiven by others, but that they have to forgive themselves."

I sat there for awhile enjoying the moment. I thanked Him for His time and for all that He has done for me and my family, and He replied, "Anytime. I'm here 24 hours a day. All you have to do is ask for Me, and I'll answer."

People will forget what you said . . . .

People will forget what you did . . . .

But, people will never forget how you made them feel.

Joseph's Wish

Part 1

first published in 2003

It was the day after my mother's birthday, September 17, 1990, and Joseph and I were on our way to Sacramento for a routine post-bone marrow transplant check up at UC Davis Medical Center. Joseph was two short months away from having his one year anniversary after his bone marrow transplant. But deep in my stomach, I knew something was wrong but I didn't want to admit it to myself.

I had made every excuse in the world not to go to his check up for fear of hearing bad news. You see, Joseph hadn't been eating much at all lately. In fact, a few days in a row he had come home from school with his lunch box untouched. He had not eaten a bite all day at school the prior week before. Then after shcool, he would come home a bit more tired than usual and had been taking naps. One day while taking a nap on my bed, I went in to check him and he had beads of sweat on his forehead, chin, and above his upper lip, even with the fan blowing on him. These were the same exact symptoms he had before he was diagnosed with cancer. I was scared.

Our ride to UC Davis was pretty quiet, Joseph napped most of the way. We arrived at the clinic, almost on time, and checked in as usual. Joseph was seen right away where the nurse took his blood pressure and temperature, checked his height and weight and then made a routine blood draw. We were asked to wait in the waiting room until the doctor was availaible to examine him.

Time passed very slowly as we waited for the doctor to arrive. Joseph and I read books, played nintendo, colored, played hang-man, and took a walk around the garden area. An hour passed and still no doctor. We then walked around the lobby, sat down and nodded off, woke up and talked to each other for awhile, but still no doctor Two hours had passed, and I was becoming more than impatient. I kept checking in at the front desk, asking what was the hold up and the gal informed me that our wait wouldn't be that much longer. Finally, after another hour had passed, I went back into the clinic area and found one of our favorite nurses, Debbie, and asked her what was going on. I was tired of waiting and so was Joseph. I told her that if we weren't going to see the docotor soon, we were going home. She asked Joseph and I to wait in an examining room and that she would get the doctor ASAP.

Joseph and I were in the examining room for about 15 minutes when I opened the door to leave, and there stood Dr. DuCore and Debbie. The doctor was finally able to see us.

Dr. DuCore started talking to us in circles, talking in metaphors, when I stopped him. "Look, Dr. DuCore, I can't understand you," I said, "please, just be direct." Dr. DuCore paused, with his head down, for what seemed a very long time. At this time, Joseph was laying on the examining table with Debbie standing beside him. I was sitting upright in a chair facing Dr. DuCore as he sat on a rolling stool. Finally, Dr. DuCore lifted his head and looked me directly in the eye and said that Joseph had relapsed. His white bood cell count was 80,000 and he was very sorry. Suddenly, after hearing the news, Joseph started rolling back and forth on the exmining table saying over and over, "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" Tears were rolling down my cheeks and I was asking, "How long? How long? How long does Joseph have?" The doctor's response was, "Maybe three months, I don't know." I grabbed his hands, crying, saying, "I can't lose Joseph! Please, isn't there something we can do?" Dr. DuCore said, "Possibly, we can give Joseph some low doses of chemo to keep him comfortable. But first, I would like to do a bone marrow aspiration to make sure it is the same type of cancer."

I walked over to Joseph, grabbed him and hugged him and told him, "I love you so much! Let's not give up now. You're not going to die!" Joseph listened to me. He trusted me. So he calmly waked into the bone marrow aspiration room, where I made sure he was sedated to the point that he felt no pain at all. After his bone marrow aspiration, I talked to Debbie and Dr. DuCore where they set us up for a return visit. Joseph was stilll sedated, so I left Him there with the nurse while I went and got my car. They let Joseph and I exit out the side door of the clinic, closer to my car, where we guided him to the car. It was 5 pm by now, we had arrived at the clinic that morning at 11 am.